


And God knows, I'm not dying but I breathe now

by RedWritingHood



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dick Grayson is a Talon, Gen, Talon!Grayson Is Still Grayson, a talon who wants to be held in batman's strong gentle batman arms, and brought back to his cave where the court can't find him, and called Son by batman's strong gentle batman voice, we love a good boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 00:15:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16629179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWritingHood/pseuds/RedWritingHood
Summary: They know now. They know that he wants more.





	And God knows, I'm not dying but I breathe now

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted Talon Dick to have,,, a hug
> 
> Title is from "My Blood" by Ellie Goulding.

He barely even bothers sticking to the shadows, now. 

There's no point. He malfunctioned. They gave him a mission, his first retrieval mission, and he failed. He's broken. He was supposed to bring the circus-child back, and he couldn't. He gave the child away instead. He barely even thought about it; he just did it. Like he couldn't stop himself, even if it terrified him. Damned him. Even if he knew that he was signing himself away for decommissioning.

The Court will never accept an excuse from him, no matter what it is. There are no exceptions in the Court. He failed. A tool is no longer useful once it's been broken. It can only be thrown out.

He should've gone back the moment he knew that he couldn't complete his mission. There's no escaping the Court. Not for a Talon, not for anyone. He should have gone back. He should have, but he didn't. And now he can't seem to stop.

His mind is in a state of flurry. Thoughts cutting off half-formed, running in circles, chasing a solution that doesn't exist. His hands twitch for the blades in their holsters, if only for the weight against his palms, the desperate hope and the false sense of security that only a fool would dare to trust.

But Talon is the fool in question, so where does that leave him? There's nothing he can do, nowhere he can go, no one he could possibly turn to. A Talon only has the Court, since the moment they first enter it, to the moment they die for the last time.

He truly is a fool, Talon thinks, and only proves himself right when his stride doesn't falter.

He sidesteps a flash of light from a passing car, almost stumbling. He would have, if he were anyone else. He wishes he was. Deeply, from down underneath his ribs, where the yearning hollows him out in a way that almost resembles pain.

He's thought about it, more than once. Sequestered in the darkness, his face hidden behind his mask, where it can't give anything away.

And even then, there's fear; fear that the Court will know, that they'll decommission him, that they'll hurt him, that they'll force their hands between his ribs, into the hollow space where he keeps these feelings and they'll take it all away.

But it's no longer just a fear. They _know_ now. They know that he wants more. They know that his loyalty is imperfect, that he can disobey. And if he's done it once, he can do it again. They'll never forget that. If he survives, they'll never allow him to forget it. They'll pull out his heart to show it to him and they'll say that it belongs to them. They'll rummage around his insides and present to him everything that they own. They'll take out his eyes and deafen his ears and they'll talk to him, they'll expect him to know their words despite what they took away. And he will, because they've said it before, and it'll be: "Hold your tongue. No screaming. You're not allowed to scream," and no matter how hard he tries, he'll disobey, and they'll tell him how disappointed they are. And then they'll _prove_ it to him.

If he survives, decommissioning will be a mercy.

And then--

The sound of a window breaking is like a gunshot in the night.

It's more than a sound, it's a sudden strike in the darkness, it's a shot of liquid fear injected straight into his veins.

He finds himself backed low against a wall, scrambling for a blade that would only delay the inevitable, his breath all but petrified in his lungs.

He's so overwhelmed by terror, by the notion that the Court has finally caught up to him, that it's almost like an electric shock to his system when the dark clouds open up and rain begins to come down from the sky.

It jolts him back to himself. The icy rainfall is like needles against Talon's bare face. Despite himself, a shudder works its way up his spine, his left hand jerking slightly, before he clenches it into a fist.

He's safe. He's still safe.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. The streets have been cold lately, and there's no moon in Gotham, not tonight. Not with the city the way it is, all smog and artificial light. But it's the frozen raindrops on his skin that finally throw his reality into his face.

It would have been less painful to be stabbed in the back with his own dagger.

His blade slips from numbed fingers. He doesn't even recognize what part of Gotham he's in anymore. He hadn't cared where he was running to, just who from.

He's lost his infrared goggles and the bladed gloves, along with the Talon that had been sent to observe his failed mission, and who surely must have healed enough by now to track back and inform the Court of his failure, then subsequent betrayal.

Fleeing was a mistake; now, he's not only a defect, but a coward as well. It will just serve to worsen his punishment.

It's almost ironic, in a way. It's been so long since he's last felt human, and now that it's upon him, what he feels most keenly are varying intensities of fear and despair.

There's an end coming for him, and it's not going to be gentle, and its not going to be sweet. He's going to fall the way he's always known he would: alone, desperate, _afraid_. Wanting something that he cannot have.

That he was never allowed to have.

"Oh," he rasps out, "God." The word scrapes on his throat like razors. And, again: " _God_." His eyes are burning. The inside of his chest is a war of surging emotions that are too strong to ignore, and that he's too unpracticed to identify.

Rain drips from his armor, slipping down the back of his neck, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He's shivering now, and there is something inside him. In his chest. In his throat.

And then he's on his knees, in the darkest part of Gotham, breaking apart.

His shoulders are curved inward, as if his body is caving in on itself. As if it just can't take it anymore. One hand is clamped over his mouth, almost painfully, and it's practically a crime, how unfair this all is. The Court haven't even got him yet, and he already feels as if he's been frozen.

It's so unbearably unfair.

He doesn't know how long he stays there, bowed over himself, ice creeping along his bones and an uncontrollable tremble in his fingertips that the rain has nothing to do with. It's only a testament to his malfuction--his _breakdown_ \--that he doesn't even realize someone is standing in front of him until he opens his eyes and sees their shoes.

Talon stops breathing. He lowers his hand from his face, tilts his head back to make out the swathe of darkness looming over him.

He hears himself say, in a voice barely above a whisper, " _Batman_."

Something blooms inside him, something more than despair, more than defeat. Something fragile. Something terribly breakable between his ribcage.

He thinks: _Batman is a hero. He's supposed to save people. That's his mission. That's what heroes are meant to do._

Maybe . . . maybe Batman could save him.

"Batman," he says again, this time louder. His fist has curled up tight against the ground, his other hand reaching up as if it's not even his own anymore.

Almost gently, like a dream ages old, Batman takes Talon's hand in his, and lowers himself down until he's eye-level with the assassin.

His grip is firm, and warm. Nothing like a dream at all. In fact, Talon thinks that he has never felt anything more real.

Batman's voice is like that too. Low and deep; quiet, for all its strength. He says, "Are you hurt?"

"Am I hurt," Talon repeats, his breath catching in his throat. After a moment, he shakes his head, tries to speak. Can't.

Batman lays his other hand on Talon's shoulder, says, "It's alright. I'm here. No one will hurt you." His tone is soft. He is. So.

Talon chokes out, " _Please_ ," and then he's crawling into Batman's lap like a wounded dog starved for sympathy, for kindness, for a simple act of humanity. His fist is loosening to come around Batman's shoulder, clinging to him as close as he possibly can, as if trying to become a part of him-- and it's unimaginable, what he would do if he's pushed away.

He would break.

Air shudders in and out of his lungs in gasps, and there's a sound coming from his throat that he never knew he could make-- rough, and hurt, and unbearable. He can't make it stop.

The hand that isn't holding Talon's own is coming around him, cradling him, Batman's voice murmuring a litany of words that Talon can't focus on enough to translate.

But he doesn't have to. He knows. Deep inside, lodged between shards of glass, he feels a faith that could only have bloomed from a horrible kind of hope.

He _knows_.

Batman is going to save him. 

**Author's Note:**

> If I caused you pain, good. Tell it to me. Give me allllll the juicy little details. I must know.
> 
> Also, yes, Bruce takes him back to the Cave, and yes, he calls Talon 'son'. Talon is his bby now. The court will have to pry him from Bruce's strong, gentle Batman hands.  
> Spoiler: they cannot.


End file.
